To Hell and Back Again
by ArgentumAurora
Summary: Ciel Phantomhive isn't the only one who's had bad experiences with evil cults. A new case has appeared with an eerie link to Ciel's haunting past, and other than his demon butler, his best resource is a mysterious girl who's escaped from his target. As the bodies pile up, these two will be drawn closer together in their effort to bring their torturers down.(Title subject to change)
1. Prolouge: A Letter from Her Majesty

**Quick A/N: I've become obsessed with Kuroshitsuji lately. I'm not sure how well I'll do writing a fanfic about it, but I'm giving it a try. This book will be very long. As you read, please remember to review, follow, and favorite! There will be references to some events in the anime/manga along with some characters that may or may not be dead showing up again, but I'll try to warn you if any spoilers crop up. Until then, please enjoy the story. After all, if I couldn't write a decent piece of fanfiction, what kind of Kuroshitsuji fan would I be?**

 **To Hell and Back Again**

It was a cold and rainy night near the beginning of October. Rain poured down, drenching the Phantomhive Estate and its surrounding grounds in cold water. The estate's residents were tucked safely inside, away from the cold and wet of the evening, watching the rain stream down the windowpanes of the house. Glowing fireplaces illuminated the house with warmth and light.

Unfortunately, the Phantomhive Estate would be receiving a visitor shortly, one who had not been lucky enough to receive an escape from the foul weather. He'd been riding for well over an hour, maybe more than two, bringing an urgent message directly from the Queen. Though the messenger had not been told the details of his message, the Queen had informed him it was of the utmost urgency, and must be delivered immediately to the Earl of Phantomhive.

As the glowing lights of the mansion came into view, the man breathed a sigh of relief. His mission was nearly over. Once he'd given this letter to the Lord Phantomhive, he could ride for home and enjoy a nice evening with his family. How nice that would be…

Sebastian Michaelis looked up in surprise at the sound of the front door's knocker clanging above the drone of the rain. "I wonder who that could be. We weren't expecting any visitors, were we, Young Master?" The tall demon asked.

Ciel Phantomhive looked up from his book, snapping it shut with his usual expression of boredom. "No. Go see what this is about, will you?"

"Of course, Young Master," the butler replied, and with that, his disappeared into a dark hallway. Ciel, left alone with his thoughts in the library, had already come to a conclusion about the situation. Only dire circumstances would require a message to be delivered in this sort of weather; England was in trouble, again.

Sebastian peered cautiously out a window before opening the door to their guest. In the not-so-uncommon case that someone had arrived to either threaten or kidnap his master, the demon wanted to be prepared. Alas, it appeared to be just an ordinary messenger. Sebastian opened the door, releasing a gust of cold air, wind, and a bit of rain into the front hall of the Phantomhive Manor.

"Good evening, sir. What brings you out here in such foul weather?" Sebastian asked. The man standing before him removed his hat respectfully.

"I come with a message from Her Majesty, the Queen, for the Earl of Phantomhive. Would you please deliver it to him for me?" the messenger replied.

"Of course. What would you have me tell the Young Master?" Sebastian said, smiling.

After fiddling in his pocket for a minute, the messenger produced a sealed letter, stamped with the Royal Seal. Handing it to Sebastian, he said, "Her Majesty wrote this up herself for Lord Phantomhive just this afternoon. She wished for me to report that it was of the utmost importance, and asked that Lord Phantomhive deliver his reply as soon as is possible. If that will be all, good evening, sir."

Sebastian fingered the letter thoughtfully. The paper was cool to the touch, but impressively dry. "Yes, that will be all. My master extends his thanks for your quick delivery. Have a safe ride," the demon said finally. The two men bid each other a nod of farewell, and the door closed between them.

A message from the Queen… How intriguing, Sebastian thought as he ascended the stairs leading to the library. Ciel was waiting for him. The boy had been to restless to continue reading his book, a novel titled "The Count of Monte Cristo."

"It appears as if you know what was delivered for you," Sebastian remarked, passing the letter to his master. The Earl of Phantomhive took a long sip of his tea. He opened the letter, unfolding a sheet of parchment bearing a message startling for both its length and bluntness.

Ultramarine eyes flicked back and forth across the paper, moving faster after each line. The young Earl's brows furrowed with worry. By the time he'd finished reading the Queen's message, Ciel was on his feet, shouting, "This is an outrage! How dare they! They won't be able to get away with this!"

Sebastian eyed the Young Master with surprise as the boy went to his desk, produced a sheet of paper and a pen, and set to writing a response. All the while, a fluent string of profanities and other assorted curses poured from Ciel's mouth. The demon had been unaware his master's vocabulary contained such foul language.

"Young Master, do watch your mouth. Even demons rarely employ such profanities as those," Sebastian commented, bringing the tea set over to Ciel at his desk. Tea often helped his master settle whatever issues were nagging at him.

"This is not the time to worry about that, Sebastian. The Queen says dark symbols have been appearing around London. The public has been whipped into a frenzy, and there have been an increasing number of riots. She says the Yard thinks the dark symbol and the rebellious spirit are somehow linked, which is why I've been called in to help. Sebastian, what if the person or group behind this is somehow tied to… those events?" Ciel's blue eye was as serious as his butler had ever seen it. This case had become personal for the Young Master. Perhaps if he'd been capable of doing so, Sebastian would've felt sorry for whoever they were now hunting. When Ciel Phantomhive set his mind to something, nothing could stop him, and he was ruthless in his revenge.

"An interesting theory, Young Master. Shall I presume we will be traveling to the London house quite soon, then?" the butler inquired.

For once, Ciel did not look the least bit unhappy about having to leave his beloved countryside estate behind for his home in the city. "We will leave first thing tomorrow morning."

"Now," Ciel declared with a yawn, "I will finish writing my reply to Her Majesty, then retire for the night. Prepare a bath, Sebastian."

The demon bowed, and left the room with a reply of, "Yes, my lord."

Ciel slumped in his chair. His mind was racing, and he could scarcely concentrate on the letter he was supposed to write. Usually, Her Majesty sent him on jobs that did not relate too directly to him (at least, they rarely appeared relevant to him at a first glance, as the Jack the Ripper case had proven). But this time, his job struck close to home.

"As the Queen's Guard Dog, it is my job to chase down whatever bone she may throw for me. Whether it be my favorite bone or one I have never seen before is irrelevant. I must concentrate on the task at hand," Ciel announced, speaking to himself as there was no one else in the room. He took another long sip of his tea. It was beginning to cool; good thing he was nearly finished with it.

The Earl finished penning his letter, then folded, enveloped, sealed, and stamped it. He would have Sebastian deliver it first thing in the morning when they arrived in London. They would have to bring the entire household this time; Ciel couldn't guess how long this case might take.

Rain still pounded relentlessly against the windowpanes as Ciel stood and left the library. Arriving in his room, the young Lord noticed a bath had already been prepared, and Sebastian was waiting for him. It was yet another display of his butler's extreme competence. One hell of a butler, eh? Well, the demon certainly got his job done.

Seeming to sense his master's thoughts, Sebastian smirked, and said, "Yes, my lord. I am simply one hell of a butler."


	2. Chapter One: The Upside-Down Oak Tree

**Quick A/N: Trigger warning. If you have issues with cutting, please stop here. I don't want to be responsible for any tragedies. That being said, remember that this is a horror story. The romance will come later. Please read at your own risk. No, I am not involved with any secret societies or cults, this is imagination plus five minutes of research. Lastly, remember that the best place to stay up to date with news and the update schedule is my profile page. So enjoy the chapter, because if I couldn't write a decent evil ceremony, what kind of Kuroshitsuji fan would I be?**

 **To Hell and Back Again: Chapter One**

Cold metal bars pressing into my back were what finally stirred me awake. They were nothing new; I'd been slumped against them for an uncountable number of hours. I opened my eyes, even though I knew there was no light in the room. Nothing had changed since I last awoke. I was still sitting in a cage in a dark room in what I believed to be the basement of someone's London townhouse.

After a moment of careful attention, I determined it was the vibrations of the cage bars that had woken me. Vibrations meant one thing: someone was coming to get me. I squeezed my eyes shut, giving myself ten seconds to feel helpless and sorry for myself before the sound of a door opening and a sudden onslaught of light forced me to put back up a tough exterior.

Whoever had come to fetch me had turned the lights on in the room, temporarily blinding me. It was a smart strategy: turn the lights on, and the girl who never sees daylight will be rendered unable to attack you like she did before you developed this strategy when you open the door of the cage she lives in. A metallic rattle reached my ears as the cage swung open. Rough hands hauled me to my feet and yanked me out of my prison.

"Oi, girl, we got a job for you. Be good, and maybe you can have some supper," my escort sneered, even throwing in a giddy laugh for good measure. I said nothing. My head was still recovering from the unexpected return of the light, leaving me too dizzy to protest when the man began to shove me along ahead of him.

We left the room where my cage was kept, and wove through a labyrinth of dark hallways before reaching what I called the ceremony room. It was an enormous space, easily the size of a warehouse. Catwalks crossed above our heads, just barely visible in the room's dim lighting. I saw in a backward glance that my guide had taken up an almost sadistic smile as he pushed me along faster.

Making our way between stacks of boxes and what would seem a number of random items such as potted trees, metalworking tools, and enormous quantities of candles and chalk, the man and I grew slowly closer to the center of the room. From this same area came the only source of light in the room. Memory told me it would be a massive amount of candles, casting their flickering light over the faces of those who would be watching me perform my job today.

We emerged into a large, clear area; or rather, it would've been a large, open space without all the people. I guessed there to be around one hundred figures donning black cloaks and hoods which hid their faces gathered tonight. _There's more of them each time,_ I noted. When I'd first come here, it had been only me and the man who had come to retrieve me from my cage tonight.

The crowds parted for me as I walked through. Feeling suddenly very exposed compared to the heavily cloaked and shawled figures around me, I tugged at the hem of the short brown dress made from rough fabric which I had been given to wear. It chafed and was uncomfortable as hell, but it was better than going naked.

At the center of the circle was a huge pentacle. White chalk had been used to draw the lines. Candles had been placed at even intervals along every line. Around the outside of the pentacle were twelve trees. Eleven of them I didn't know the name of, and didn't care to. It was the twelfth tree that put my nerves on edge. The twelfth tree was a large oak that had been suspended upside down from a catwalk at the bottom-most point of the pentacle. If the hanging upside-down part wasn't creepy enough, the oak, like all the other trees, was completely dead, despite the fact that they were watered daily, had soil, and received some light from the candles, which never went out.

I could hear now that the crowd was chanting something. My guide nudged me over to the oak tree. We moved slowly. His footsteps fell in rhythm with the chanting crowd, but I refused to match mine to their pace. Any minor disobedience I could get away with, I would take full advantage of.

I could suppress only half a shudder as I flashed back to the last time I'd been brave enough to defy the dark cult that held me captive.

 _The sea of black hoods hissed in disapproval. "It is not yet ready, girl, foolish girl. You try its patience. Know your place, sacrifice, and keep it." I glared back at them, defiance burning in my eyes. "I'm not a toy. You can't just pull me out and play with me whenever you feel like it."_

 _"_ _If that is what you believe, foolish sacrifice, then let it bestow upon you what consequences it wishes." Their words, spoken not as individual units but as a single, synchronized group, seemed weightless and insignificant to me. The cult practiced some form of black magic, though I'd never seen it in action. I didn't actually believe it was magic._

 _Despite everything I'd thought, though, I found myself only seconds later clutching my wrists as they blossomed with pain. My mouth opened in a scream, but the pain stole all sound from my cry. I wasn't bleeding, because no warm, sticky fluid ran down my fingers. I'd sank to my knees, and was shaking violently. Though I was afraid of what I might find, I looked down at my wrists to assess the damage._

 _Two ash gray marks had branded themselves onto my wrists. A double ouroboros formed the outer ring of an almost pentacle-like mark. Inside the two snakes was an upside-down phoenix with its mouth open in a fearsome grin. The marks were identical to one another, except for one detail. Under each mark was three words, written in what looked to be Latin, though my knowledge of the language was limited._

 _"_ _Omnia quae surgit, omnes qui moritur. All which rises, all which dies." The crowd chanted. I still could produce no noise other than small gasps of pain and astonishment. For a minute, the candles seemed to glow less brightly, and the shadows seemed to grow longer. The crowd suddenly seemed like giants towering above me._

 _I gave in to the fear, ashamed at myself for doing so but too scared by the new brands on my wrists to do anything else. Pulling my knees to my chest, I rocked back and forth, clutching my wrists against my chest as I tried to ignore the chanting around me, which grew steadily in volume._

 _The next time I left the cage, the number of robed figures in attendance had very nearly doubled. And, much to my shock and dismay, the marks were still seared into my wrists. My escort told me later on that they would be permanent. To make things worse, I noticed that the brands would grow searing hot and begin to smoke when we drew near the pentacle in the ceremony room._

Whereas the crowd had previously been silent, they now picked up a haunting chant, which they began to repeat fervently. I glanced down at my wrists, a constant reminder that to fight my captors was a poor decision on my behalf. They were burning hot and smoking, as they always did. It created an eerie effect, making the phoenix and two snakes seem much more lifelike, as if they might begin to move around on my skin.

My escort, who was also the only person who did not wear black, (he instead wore a dark, blood-red robe) stopped me in front of the oak. The tree's dead branches reached out to embrace me. I shivered at their touch, shrinking away from the lifeless talons which scratched at my bare arms.

The crowd continued to chant for much longer. Sometimes, they would chant for so long that I began to fall asleep standing here in front of the oak tree. The hooded figures seemed to have more reverence for the tree than for almost anything else in the ceremony room. It made me feel awkward, to be standing in front of their sacred tree as these mysterious people paid homage to it, but they rarely acknowledged my presence during this part of their rituals.

And then they began the next phase of today's ceremony. Eleven figures shrouded in black robes came forth holding wooden pots. They were small enough to fit in the palm of one's hand, and I guessed that each pot was made from the wood of whichever tree it was set down beside. The pots were placed between the trees and the chalk lines of the pentacle. Every tree except for the oak received a pot. As the pot-bearers returned to their posts in the crowd, the group took up a faster, more haunting chant.

Somewhere in the back, I heard drummers pound a steady rhythm on drums which produced a deep, heavy sound that strained my ears. The crowd continued to chant. Their voices rose, winding higher and higher in volume until they stopped abruptly. A sharp jab to the small of my back signaled it was time for me to start moving.

Turning to my left, I began to walk in a clockwise circle around the pentacle. At the first tree, I stopped. My escort, who had followed me, produced a ceremonial knife from the folds of his robe. It was a long, silver blade with a handle fashioned from a human's bones (I knew because he'd once told me that in an attempt to scare me. The bones were not mine, so I set the matter aside to ponder at a later date).

I held out my hands over the pot. The crowd chanted again, fast and low. When they stopped, the silver knife flashed forward. I waited until a drop of blood had fallen from each hand into the pot, then moved on to the next tree. At this one, we performed the same ritual. Chant, blood, repeat. Chant, blood, repeat.

Each of the pots so far had already contained a fair amount of blood, both from my hands and from the bodies of sacrificial victims. At the sixth pot, we stopped, and began a new series of actions. The crowd took up a different chant. This time, the knife flew toward my wrists. Blood dripped down into the pot, but I felt no pain. The pain had stopped long ago.

After that, I returned to the oak tree, nestled once more among its lifeless branches as the assembly of robed figures finished their ceremony. They were silent, a forest of black cloaks as I was led away, out of the ceremony and back down to my cell. Someone had turned out the lights again; unfortunately, my eyes were now accustomed to the light, leaving me to flounder helplessly in the dark space.

The lack of light did not stop my escort from returning me to my cage, locking the door, and leaving, all without saying a word. There would be no bandages for my wounds. All I could do until the next time they summoned me was sleep. Or, if I became especially bored, I could drag my fingers along the cage bars and count how many there were (57, there was always 57 cold, metal bars).

I drifted off to sleep, letting the misty bank of dreams take me away from this wretched reality. Life hadn't always been this way. I could scarcely remember it now, but there had been a time before the black room and the cage and the black-robed chanting. Images of snowy London streets and softly glowing lanterns and children playing games in the street swam through my thoughts as I slipped into unconsciousness. And when I woke up, there was bread and water waiting for me.


	3. Chapter Two: The Case Begins

**A/N: I'm working on planning out the rest of this book, and I'm getting super excited about it. For now, enjoy another chapter. Remember to follow, favorite, and review. Oh, by the way, thank you guys so much for all the reviews so far! I wasn't expecting to get that many after so few chapters, so that made me really happy. ^.^ Anyway, enjoy the chapter, because if I couldn't write about a few occult symbols, what kind of Kuroshitsuji fan would I be?**

The black carriage, drawn by two midnight colored horses, rolled smoothly down the country road leading from the Phantomhive Estate to the city of London. Ciel hated to leave his beloved mansion behind, but it was necessary to do so for this case. Sebastian was driving the carriage, and the servants were following in a separate vehicle of their own. It made the boy somewhat uncomfortable to have them along, simply because he hated to involve any extra persons in this particular job, but it could be a long stay in London, and Ciel would need Sebastian assisting him, not busying himself with household chores.

The Phantomhive boy had stooped to requesting that Sebastian stay with him last night as memories of that dark time in his past floated to the surface of his mind. Very rarely did Ciel Phantomhive ever feel truly afraid of anything, but this case was beginning to make itself an exception. His body wanted to panic and run for the hills at the thought of having to face the cult that had been responsible for so much tragedy in his life, but at the same time, it was thrilling to imagine all the ways he could exact revenge on those fiends.

Peering out the window, Ciel noticed that they had reached the outskirts of London. Soon enough they'd be arriving at his townhome, and the real work would begin. Today he had planned to visit each of the sites the Queen had mentioned involving the uprisings. As long as Scotland Yard stayed out of the way, he would hopefully be able to form some basic conclusions about whatever group Her Majesty believed was behind the recent riots.

As the carriage was passing through a somewhat narrow alley, a flash of red outside the window caught Ciel's attention. "Sebastian, stop the carriage!" He shouted, grabbing his cane and preparing to stand up. The butler did as he was told, and came around to help his master out of the carriage, but Ciel had already leaped out of the carriage and was running back the way they'd come.

"He just loves to test my patience," the demon growled before racing after the young Earl.

Ciel, in the meantime, stopped. He'd found what he was looking for. They were in one of London's particularly poor districts, and here, smeared on the wall in a material that could only be dried human blood, was an enormous occult symbol. Eight arrows extended from a central circle. The arrows had been painted to look like feathers rather than arrows, and in the center of the circle was one letter: P.

"A chaos symbol," Sebastian remarked, surprise tugging at the edges of his voice. "I never thought I'd see one here in London."

"What do you know about this symbol?" Ciel demanded, turning to his butler with a fierce expression. Inside, a wave of relief washed over him. It was not the same mark that he had been branded with.

"It's often used in chaos magic, although it's not very well known. It stands for exactly what you'd expect: chaos," Sebastian explained, "However, this location is not on the list of uprising locations you were instructed to inspect."

"So then you think this mark isn't related to our case?" Ciel clarified with a slight frown.

"That's correct. Shall we continue, Young Master?" Sebastian asked with a smile. The Phantomhive boy followed his butler back to the carriage and allowed the demon to help him back inside. A prickle of dread had returned to the boy's stomach. There was still a chance, then, that this case would require him to track down _that_ group.

The Phantomhive carriage and the servants' cart stopped a short while later outside the Phantomhive townhome. Sebastian instructed the servants to get the house ready for them, as he and Ciel had urgent business to attend to. Soon enough, Sebastian was steering the carriage through the busy London streets once more.

Ciel scanned the list of riot locations Her Majesty had provided him with in her letter last night. Sebastian had been right; none of the locations matched up with the symbol they'd seen earlier. Still, though, the incident didn't sit easy with him. There was no way a symbol like that could be completely unrelated to his task.

"Young Master, we have arrived at our first destination," Sebastian announced, opening the carriage door and helping Ciel down from its dim interior. The young Earl folded the Queen's letter into one of his pockets, and led the way toward a popular pub known as _Abernathy's_. His butler following protectively, Ciel walked around to the side of the pub and froze in surprise.

Painted on the wall of the pub was an image of a black snake devouring its own tail: an ouroboros. He moved closer to the wall to inspect the image more carefully. Running a ultramarine eye critically over the symbol, Ciel noted that it had been made with some kind of sticky black substance, probably tar. It was also textured in extreme detail, the tar forming ridges and dips as if it were actual snakeskin.

"Oi! What do you think you're doing?" Three men in dark cloaks ran out from behind _Abernathy's_. Ciel stepped back, temporarily startled, before flicking a hand toward the three intruders as a signal to his butler. In a flash, Sebastian had knocked out two of the men and held the other captive.

"I think the real question here is what do you think _you're_ doing. Are you the one responsible for this?" Ciel questioned their captive. The man spat at the young Earl in contempt.

"'Course not. I don't know a thing about it!" The man protested, wiggling in an attempt to escape from Sebastian's grip on him.

Ciel's expression became almost sadistic as he began to pace back and forth. "I don't believe you. If you don't know a thing about it, then why did you run out at us?"

Their captive was silent for a moment. Sebastian tightened his hold on the man's neck, causing the bloke to choke and sputter before managing to say, "Alright! Alright, I'll tell you what I know!"

 _Coward,_ Ciel mocked in his head. Sebastian had inflicted worse tortures than that before. It was pathetic to see even a criminal such as this snap after so little pain. Soon enough, all he and Sebastian would have to do would be show up, and they'd have criminals lining up to confess their sins. That would take all of the fun out of his work.

"I don't know who made this mark, but some bloke in a real nice hat and coat like yours came along just yesterday while I was enjoying a drink at the pub here. He said he had to make an important delivery, and he could pay me if my buddies and I guarded this alley here, kept strangers like you folk out of it just for today."

"Did he say anything about what this delivery was?" Ciel asked.

"No, no sir. He just said he had a delivery to make, I don't know what."

"I see. And did he say when he'd be making this delivery?"

"He already made it, sir."

"Why didn't you tell me that earlier?" Ciel exclaimed with a growl of frustration. Common criminals were always such… idiots. "Can you tell me anything about what he looked like?"

The man suddenly swallowed nervously. "Well, he's right over here, sir. He, ah… He's dead. The man he made the delivery to shot him after he handed him the package."

"You should've told me that in the first place!" Ciel roared. "Now Young Master," Sebastian warned quietly. Irritation still clung to Ciel's tense limbs, but he couldn't afford to lose his temper in public, especially not over a petty fool such as this.

"Show us the body. Can you tell us anything about the package, or the man who shot him?" Ciel inquired. Sebastian released their captive, who scuttled over the alleyway he'd appeared from. The Earl and butler followed him.

Hidden by the shadow of _Abernathy's_ was the body the man had mentioned. The dead individual had no visibly recognizable features. A gray trench coat wrapped around most of his body, and a black top hat rested on his chest. He wore no glasses or jewelry, and none of the materials in his clothing looked particularly expensive, nor particularly cheap.

"Sebastian, take care of this fellow. We're going to see the Undertaker," Ciel announced, turning on his heel and marching out of the alley, heading back to the carriage. Sebastian pulled his gloves off with his teeth and uttered, "Yes, my Lord," before pouncing sinisterly on the unsuspecting man who had been their captive.


	4. Chapter Three: A Jolly Good Time

**To Hell and Back Again: Chapter Three**

 **A Jolly Good Time**

 **A/N: My apologies, it's been so long! I owe you all so much more than just this chapter, but all good things to those who wait. Enjoy, because if I couldn't write a visit to the Undertaker, what kind of Kuroshitsuji fanfiction author would I be?**

The Phantomhive carriage stopped outside a familiar tan building. A few coffins leaned against the walls of the Undertaker's funeral parlor. Sebastian came around the carriage and helped his young Master out of the vehicle. Ciel led the pair through the brown door marking the entrance to the mortician's lair.

Inside, the parlor was dark. Coffins were piled up around the room, most of them empty and waiting to be put to use. Ciel, looking around, could not see his informant anywhere in the shop.

"Undertaker, I know you're home!" Ciel called out. His voice carried traces of annoyance. A moment passed in silence, as if the funeral parlor were sighing. Then, the lid of a coffin propped against the wall began to slid with painstaking slowness across the floor, producing a harsh, grating noise as it revealed the shadowy interior of the coffin.

"I suspected you might be paying me a visit soon," the Undertaker chuckled, stepping airily out of his coffin. _Must he always make a dramatic entrance like that? Is it just a Shinigami thing?_ Ciel shook off those thoughts. He had business to attend to.

"Then you must know why I'm here," Ciel replied. Both the earl and his butler watched as the Undertaker moved from one coffin to another, as if he were looking for something.

The Undertaker stopped in his tracks, and his head turned toward Ciel with an air of expectancy. "Yes, yes, but you know what the cost of obtaining my information is…"

Sebastian released a heavy sigh, and said, "I will deal with this, Young Master. Please wait outside; I fear the humor I have prepared for today's dealings is not intended for young audiences."

Ciel frowned. He was certain he could handle anything Sebastian came up with, but, at least for now, there wasn't a good enough reason not to go along with Sebastian's request. With a nod of his head, Ciel turned and walked briskly out of the funeral parlor.

Before even a full minute had passed, the Undertaker's shrieking laughter rattled the funeral parlor's walls. Sebastian poked his head out the door and chirped, "You may return now, Young Master."

"Oh yes, I have tasted the sweetness of true laughter… Anything you want to know if yours, my Lord," the Undertaker mumbled as Ciel reentered the building. A look of disdain overcame the young Earl's face at the sight of the Undertaker laying atop a stack of coffins like a bug that'd gotten stuck on its back.

"What do you know about the series of revolts that have taken place lately?" Ciel demanded.

"Honestly, not much. However, that red-haired Shinigami Grell passed through here earlier today saying something about a cult and lots of souls to reap," the Undertaker admitted, tumbling off his stack of coffins as he did so.

Sebastian looked mildly disgusted, and Ciel frowned, spitting out in a cross tone, "That bastard always manages to get mixed up in my business, doesn't he?"

A moment later, having recovered his composure, Ciel went on, "Can you recall anything specific he said?"

The Undertaker frowned, and scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Well now, he did say something about a lot of trees…"

"Anything more useful than foliage, Undertaker?" Sebastian cut in. The butler had remained as impassive as ever throughout the conversation.

"Not from Grell, no. Although if you managed to get a hold of him, he might be able to tell you more than I could," the Undertaker suggested.

Ciel frowned. "Is that all you know, Undertaker?"

The Undertaker grinned, and held up one finger as an indication for the Earl and his butler to remain in the parlor. He then bustled into an unlit back room. A handful of crashes and clatters later, the Undertaker returned through the back room's doorway, holding a sheet of paper in his left hand.

"This here is an unusual request I received from an anonymous customer a few days ago, asking me to prepare an extraordinary coffin to fit a child around your age, my Lord," the Undertaker said, handing over the paper for Ciel to inspect. The Earl's cerulean blue eyes narrowed as he attempted to make sense of the incredibly sloppy handwriting.

It was indeed a request for a grand coffin for a child the same size as Ciel. There was no personal information to be found anywhere on the letter; not even an address for the coffin to be delivered to. Voicing his thoughts, Ciel asked, "How do they expect you to deliver the coffin without an address?"

"I assumed they might come here to pick it up. If you'll read the last line, my Lord, they're promising a very nice price indeed. I have every intention of having the coffin completed by the date they ask," the Undertaker grinned.

"That is a handsome price indeed, especially for a coffin. But why pay so much?" Sebastian inquired of no one in particular, peering over Ciel's shoulder to read the letter.

"Yes, this person is clearly not of nobility, or they wouldn't hide their identity as the author of this letter has done; so then, why make such a spectacle?" the Undertaker cackled. When he grinned, the mortician almost looked like some kind of eerie doll.

Ciel squinted at the letter, then, handing it back to its owner, asked, "Undertaker, do you think this request is somehow connected to the revolts and symbols around town?"

The funeral parlor creaked, as if content. The Undertaker considered the question for a moment, then replied, "I can't be sure, but I'd think this would be the kind of thing to be connected to strange events like that if the timing if anything to judge by."

Ciel nodded as if he had been expecting this answer. "Very well, that will be all. Let's go, Sebastian."

"Yes, my Lord," Sebastian replied, giving a slight bow before opening the door of the funeral parlor for his young master. Ciel walked out of the funeral parlor, and made a beeline for his carriage. This case gnawed at his nerves even more with each passing second -it struck too close to his own dark experiences- and it was a feeling he was none too comfortable with.

"Let's go home, Sebastian. We'll find Grell tomorrow," Ciel ordered as he boarded his carriage. His butler bowed, closed the carriage door, and soon they were rolling through London as they made their way back to the Phantomhive townhouse.


	5. Chapter Four: Bloody Affairs

"Come on girl, get up," a gruff voice commanded. Before I could do anything more than open my eyes, a hand gripped the nape of my neck and pulled me backwards. I slid across the cold, hard floor. My vision cleared, showing me that I was out of my cage, and the lights were on.

I stumbled to my feet, and obediently followed my escort. Something looked different about him, but I couldn't put my finger on it. There was no time to ponder it further. I was shoved roughly out of my cage room and into the hall.

Once more, we wound through the dark halls until we reached the ceremony room. That's when I realized why my escort had looked different tonight, and it stopped me dead in my tracks: everyone in this room, save for myself, was wearing garments that were entirely blood red. Momentarily, I wondered if they had used real blood to dye their clothes; it would certainly explain the stench. Maybe it was better not to know, actually.

"Hurry up, we 'aven't got all night," my escort snapped, prodding me in the back with the metal bar he carried for protection. I tripped forward, caught my balance, then proceeded into the ceremony at a slower pace than usual.

The size of the audience appeared to have nearly doubled since the other night. As I moved through their ranks, one figure stood out to me more so than the others. The red it wore was a little brighter; more like the red of someone's lips than the macabre shade the other figures donned. I received another poke in the small of my back. Surely it was just a trick of the light. Everyone here was the same.

Once again I found myself trapped in the cruel embrace of the upside down oak. The audience began to chant, prompting another realization of mine: they'd been silent so far. A cold stone seemed to settle in the pit of my stomach. Tonight was going to be distinctly different from its predecessors.

Suddenly, two lines of people entered the pentagram on the floor from behind me, one line on each side. It was then I saw that they were children. _What do they want with children? They already have me. Unless…_

 _Unless they're planning to sacrifice me tonight._

The world snapped into high definition. I did not intend to die; not here, not now, not for these fools' idiot plans.

My heart was thundering in my chest, matching the pace of the crowd's chanting. I snuck a glance at my escort, figuring that if I was nothing more than a pig to be slaughtered tonight, he would move me to where my death would be a little more dramatic. But he was still, eyes closed as he chanted along with the group.

Returning my sights to the pentagram, I noticed that a few audience members had stepped forward and were lining the children up in front of the potted trees. My eyes widened and I averted my gaze when I realized the children were naked and blindfolded.

 _What the… Oh. They're going to die, not me._ A ripple of relief washed through me, but it was quickly replaced with guilt, followed by anger. _Why all these sacrifices? Why us, children? I'm glad it's not me they're killing, but that doesn't make it right for these children to die!_

The chanting changed to something fast and low and almost hungry sounding. The audience members who'd been lining up the children now stood, one in front of each victim. Each one produced a long, curved, white knife from their robes. My stomach churned uncomfortably.

A few of the children screamed as the knives plunged into their stomachs. I turned away and was sick. My escort glared at me. If he didn't want me to be sick, he should've warned me.

When I gathered the courage to look back to where there were now eleven fresh corpses, I was startled to see someone who clearly did not belong at the ceremony stooped over one of the children. It was the figure I thought I'd seen earlier: a man with long scarlet hair and a matching coat. He carried a chainsaw in one hand, which caused me to wonder what on Earth he was doing here and why none of the ceremony's attendants had chased him off by now.

"Dear me, it's truly a shame but I'm going to have to let you go," the man said. I stared at him in confusion. A flicker of movement caught my eye, and I realized a long string of pictures- moving pictures, at that- was sprouting from the child he stood over like water from a fountain.

A rough hand on my arm pulled me out of my position in the upside down tree. It was my escort, tugging me out to begin my portion of the ritual. When I glanced back, the man in red was no longer visible.

The ground was slick with the children's blood as I made my rounds. Their corpses still lay behind me. I refused to look at them, fearing that if I did, I would never be able to get the image out of my head. I would already be hearing their tortured screams every time I closed my eyes for the rest of my life.

I was silent for the rest of the ceremony, and paid no attention to what the others were doing. When my escort tugged on my arm so that he could return me to my cage, I began to follow him numbly. Before we plunged back into the dark maze of hallways, I noticed the children's corpses had been cleared away. Their screams and the memory of those knives burying themselves in the children played in my head, and I was violently sick again.

Soon, I was locked away again in my cage, enveloped by darkness and silence. I leaned my head back against the metal bars and tried to block out the horrible memory. It was harder to hold back tears; too hard, it would seem, as a single, fat drop fell into my lap. This was just so _unfair_. What had I done to deserve this? I had almost no memories of before my captivity, and those that I did have were fuzzy and vague. What had those children done to deserve being murdered? But most of all, what I wished I knew was _why_. _Why_ all these rituals and sacrifices and blood? Who was in charge of this operation, and what did they want to accomplish?

"You saw me, didn't you?" A voice asked from somewhere outside my cage. It sounded familiar, but I couldn't put a finger on why.

"Who are you?" I asked, wincing at how timid and scared I sounded.

"I was collecting souls, and you saw me. I'm a Shinigami; my name's Grell."

 _The man with the long red hair and the chainsaw. Right!_ When I did not reply, Grell went on, "You must have been able to see me because you're close to death yourself."

"You don't have to tell me I'm going to die soon," I retorted. I hugged my knees tightly to my chest. _I suppose death isn't so bad to him,_ I thought bitterly.

"Given up hope, have you? That's pathetic," Grell replied, his tone almost bored-sounding.

My self-control slipped and my thoughts and emotions came pouring out. "What hope do I have? I'm locked in a cage, probably in someone's basement, and I keep watering trees with my blood and I'll probably never see the sun again. I'm only alive so that they can kill me prettily and you expect me to have hope?"

I could hear the frown in Grell's voice. "I suppose when you put it that way it does sound a little depressing…"

A little hum of agreement passed my lips. In the quiet, I could hear every movement he made, no matter how small.

"Well, if you're just going to sit there with your misery, then I'll get back to work before Will comes to yell at me or confiscate my chainsaw. I thought you'd be at least somewhat interesting," Grell sighed. I could hear him stand up (what had he been sitting on? His chainsaw?) and take a few steps. Maybe he had better night vision than humans, because I could feel him staring at me.

His footsteps began to get closer to where I knew the door to be, and before I could think I heard myself blurt out, "What's it like? Out- or up- there?"

Grell stopped walking. He was silent for a minute, seeming to choose his words carefully before he said, "Do you remember London?"

 _London._ I could hardly remember anything before my life now. I didn't know how long I'd been down here for; I had nothing with which to make marks on the bars of my cage. But when Grell said it, I remembered small scraps of London. I'd been very young, and my memories were hazy; children running through an alleyway, a big, grimy river, and a shop called Gordon and Burch.

"A bit," I replied.

Grell seemed suddenly thrilled to have been asked, his tone shifting rapidly to excitement as he exclaimed, "Oh, London never gets any less exciting! It gets dirtier and bigger and the people get louder and maybe a little more intelligent, but the only thing you'll find different is the fashion, darling."

I tried to conjure up images of what Grell described, piecing them together from my scarce memories. Nothing came of my efforts.

"Speaking of London, I have more souls to reap tonight, so I really must go now. I think we'll be seeing each other again very soon, Miss…" Grell trailed off as if mentally reaching for something.

"Hey!" He protested. "I never learned your name."

It was no small miracle that, after so long in the dark and silence with any reprieve from my cage being only brief and worse than the cage itself, I still remembered my own name. To be fair, I only remembered my first name, but it sure as hell was better than nothing.

"Aline," I said. "My name is Aline."

Grell muttered something about my name being unique. I wouldn't have heard it without the lack of other noise in the room. It sparked a rare feeling of pride, or possibly just happiness, in me; an event so startling and special that Grell instantly claimed a small, special place in my heart. I hadn't had a human conversation like this in… I didn't even know how long.

"Well Miss Aline, this won't be the last time we see each other, I'm sure," Grell said. With that, his footsteps trailed away, leaving me alone in the dark and silence again. I wondered if the next time I'd be seeing him would be at my death.

It was as I replayed our conversation in my head that something occurred to me. Grell had said "the only thing you'll find different is the fashion," as if he thought I might get to see London again. A soft little smile stretched across my face, working out muscles so rarely used nowadays that smiling almost hurt a little bit. It was nice that he cared. And somehow, it comforted me to know who would be there to end my life.

 **A/N: Wow, it's been forever since I updated this! And, as I reread earlier chapters, I realized that this story isn't really going how I want it to, so I'm going to edit the chapters I've posted already, and moving forward I'm going to scrap the outline I had for this story (it involved Lizzie and my OC dying, something I do not want to have happen) so that this story aligns to what I want it to be a little better. You won't see another chapter posted to this story until I've edited the earlier chapters, so please be patient with me! Thanks!**


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